


Betcha Can't

by eris_of_imladris



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris_of_imladris/pseuds/eris_of_imladris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meredith looks back on two moments in her life when she wished she could have done more. May add a third chapter with end-game spoilers later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 9:10 Dragon

The candle wax dripped down onto the cloth by the feet of the statue of Andraste in the small holding room. She was there alone, save for the statue, and the next time she left the room, she would be inducted into the Templar Order.

Rumors had told her about the lyrium. She wondered about it. Did it give the same rush of power as a mage felt when they reached into the Fade to work their spells? Would she finally be able to understand her sister for the first time... understand what made her snap?

Amelia. She was older than her now, by four years. She was a woman now, whereas Amelia had died right at the cusp of womanhood. She was a warrior, a fighter, hardened by losing everything. Amelia didn't know how good she had it. How could demons in the head compare to losing everyone she ever loved, all at once, and then being put at blame? Having to move out with nothing more than a locket to remind her of her old life and the people she failed, the ones she heard screaming as their bones were torn from their bodies, their flesh from their bones, their families into shards?

She did not know how Amelia would have done in the Circle. She did not know if Amelia would have passed her Harrowing, or become an enchanter, or perhaps even tutored the orphans in the Chantry instead of creating orphans. She did not know why seeing woman's blood for the first time drove Amelia to the demons, or why the same blood drove her to the Templars.

The one thing she did know was her sister's face smiling down at her, Amelia at ten, gap-toothed grin that six-year-old Meredith tried to emulate all the time. She held her sister's hand, like always, but felt something different. Something burning, etching onto the innocent flesh of her palm.

"Betcha can't do that," Amelia goaded, sparks dancing across her fingers as she ran to show their parents.

Betcha couldn't do magic. Betcha couldn't save your sister from the magic. Betcha couldn't kill a demon. That, Meredith could do, her blade sliding through the fiery substance of Fade creatures when they possessed mages like her sister, mages she no longer could consider innocents. She could do some of the "betchas" that haunted her. She could wield a sword, protect true innocents, recite the Chant of Light perfectly. But there was one that would always haunt her.

Betcha can't save them all.

She spent the rest of the night wondering if that meant saving all the innocents, or saving all the mages. But she made her choice in the morning when she knelt before Guylian.


	2. 9:21 Dragon

Knight Commander Guylian was dead. The man she swore her oaths to. The man who had raised her up from nothing, called her his Knight Captain. The man whose two-handed blade inspired her to follow his footsteps. The man whose blade had cut her sister's head off neatly, until the demon receded and it vanished into dust.

Guylian swung from a rope next to two or three of his other men. Among them was Gideon York, the other Knight Captain, who had been the closest thing she had to a friend in the Order. The only reason she was not hanging as well was that she had been in the Chantry when they were ambushed, and she had been protected.

Served her right, she heard the viscount had said. Threnhold. The murderer who still lived. She's just a weak little thing who didn't dare to come out and fight. Betcha she can't undo what I've done.

She couldn't undo his crimes. Just like Amelia. She had to continue, to persist, but she could no longer wait for an opportunity to strike. She found the Templars mourning, and gathered their swords. Her words were not motivated by a desire to lead, only by a desire for revenge. Never before had she felt this kind of hatred against anyone who was not a mage - and secretly she began to wonder if a mage was controlling Threnhold, or if he was a mage himself.

She kept her suspicions to herself as she knocked down the door and burst into the Viscount's Keep, two dozen men at her back. She would not be ambushed, like Guylian. She would not surrender, no matter what. Someone's blood would be spilled in the hall today, and it was not going to be hers.

She marched on, fought at all sides. Her helmet hid her face, left her identity a mystery. Threnhold himself appeared, and she restrained her blood-lust for one moment, just one moment, long enough for him to say Nice show, betcha can't find that coward Knight Captain of yours. Without a commander, you're nothing.

She put a gauntleted hand on his shoulder after his guards had fallen to her blade. She fought well. Guylian would have been proud, perhaps. But the time for that was past. He whispered in her ear as she dragged him away. Hey, you, I'll make you Knight Commander. Stop this and I'll stop that bitch from getting into power. He interpreted her silence as agreement. Little girls don't deserve to play at war. Betcha she can't even pick up a sword.

Her blade thrust into his knee before she even realized she'd done it. She pulled it out, wiped it on his ornate robes. Removed her helm before she threw him in prison, shut the door, walked away.

She walked past Guylian and York to get to the Chantry. Their placement had been on purpose - a direct challenge to Her Grace, a challenge Meredith could no longer ignore. And just like she had two times before, she saw the Chantry filled with templars. She knelt at the Grand Cleric's feet. But this time she was proclaimed not Ser Meredith Stannard, nor Knight Captain Meredith Stannard.

Knight Commander Meredith. Just Meredith. Her only name, the only name she was proud to call her own. She rose from her knees and looked at the templars still on their knees, looking up at her covered in battle-rage and blood and she took in the deepest breath she had ever taken, and let it out.

She had work to do.


End file.
